RTW is junk that costs an exuberant amount, but the couture and the cruise lines can be interesting. I watched a documentary on Karl, I don't think he was involved much in actual design, but rather decision making.
I didn't know that was his quote, but I do remember him being a darling of Brit television in the 70s and 80s along with Sacha Distel. Another contemporary and similar career path, Dave Brubeck, also a long life and died age 91.
“I can’t stop touring because I will die,” Dale says. And he’s not saying that as the long-time performer who can’t give up the spotlight and the intoxicating adoration of his fans. Rather, he emphasizes, “Physically and literally, I will die.”
He’s not kidding or overstating. Dale isn’t about to drive cross-country with his wife, Lana — herself in chronic pain due to multiple sclerosis — because he craves money to live high on the hog. He’s doing it to pay for medical patches and pouches so he can change his colostomy bag more frequently than insurance will allow.
“I have to raise $3,000 every month to pay for the medical supplies I need to stay alive, and that’s on top of the insurance that I pay for,” Dale explains. “The hospital says change your patch once a week. No! If you don’t change that patch two times a day, the fecal matter eats through your flesh and causes the nerves to rot and they turn black, and the pain is so excruciating that you can’t let anything touch it. That has happened to me because I was following the orders of the hospital.”
They’ve also told him it’s OK to wash out and reuse the bags, but Dale says that the bacteria has nearly killed him and he won’t risk it. Because despite the pain, he’s a man who still loves life and wants to keep on living it — even if that means taxing and stressing his body to the outer limits.
“Sure, I’d love to stay home and build ships in a bottle and spend time with my wife in Hawaii, but I have to perform to save my life,” he says. “I’ve been living like this for the past 15 years, but I’m still here and opening my eyes each morning.”
Our beloved neighbors threw a birthday dinner party for me yesterday evening although my "official" birthday is today. I only realized late in life that when I was born on March 18 in Australia, it was March 17 here in the States, so whenever I have been celebrating my B-Day on March 18, I am actually a year and a day older. Anyway, a few of my other neighbors were guests, and it turns out one of them had been fairly well acquainted with Dick Dale. I had hitherto been oblivious to his existence.
Briefly told, while I was born in Australia, my stay there was but a short one. The timeline is this: My mother, gravid with me, was able to get a ride out of Java on the last American military plane to leave eastern Java on the night of February 28, just as the Japanese were about to invade the island. My father was a pilot in the Dutch naval air force, but he had been killed at the very outbreak of the war, whether in a crash or by enemy action is uncertain. I was born 18 days after her arrival in Australia. She was able to get on a ship going to the USA that sailed on April 20, and we were back at her family home in Los Angeles in early May. Obviously, I have no recollections of my sojourn in Australia.